Batman: Case of the Serpent Syndicate 2
by TheMisterMage
Summary: When Bruce Wayne finds out that he has been ineffective as just a vigilante in a ski-mask, he decides that he needs to become something more... something that could be lurking in every shadow, around every corner... the BATMAN. In his first outing, Batman will encounter a foe the world long though dead, a world renowned killer, and a love he long thought lost...


My name is Bruce Wayne. When I was 8 years old, my parents and those of my friends were shot in an alley in front of our very eyes. That day, I swore to myself that I would stop the crime that took my parents from me. To do this, I devoted my life to honing my body and mind into becoming a weapon in which to fight evil. I am vengeance. I am the night. I. AM. BATMAN.

* * *

STRYKER'S MANSION - ROOF - June 1st, 1958

' _This_ ,' thought Batman, lying on the scalding hot roof tiles of Stryker's mansion, feeling the skin on his back singe, ' _this would be a good death._ ' He'd fought the phantasm tooth and nail, dealing as much punishment as he'd taken, but it wasn't enough. He still failed to prevent Stryker's murder. He still failed to catch the killer. Maybe, what Jim had said was right, maybe he wasn't making a difference. And you know what, a small part of him wanted to believe it, the part that was looking for any excuse to abandon his crusade before it was to late. Before he died broken and alone in some dingy back alley of the city.

No, he had to be doing some good, right?

Like ice water through his veins, the need to prove himself shocked Batman back into action. ' _This…_ ' thought Batman, dragging his pain addled body upright, ' _this would be a good death, but not good enough._ '

Batman staggered to his feet, knees threatening to buckle at any instant, his head swimming from blood loss and the pain of broken bones. His movements had aggravated the gaping wounds in his stomach, though he was certain nothing critical had been punctured by sheer mermit of his guts not spewing forth, a small miracle it it's own right. Batman grabbed at his cape, tearing it from his shoulders and, with the skill of a practiced battlefield medic, tied it round his midsection, the knot tight over the wound, pressure against which nearly made him blackout from shock. But the jolt was enough to give him precisely what he needed to survive, adrenaline.

He nearly fell from the roof as he clumsily climbed down, falling to his hands and knees, staining the grass with his blood. Batman stumbled away, making a line for his car that even a drunk wouldn't call straight, but somehow he made it, falling into the seat of his car with a groan.

GOTHAM CITY - CRIME ALLEY - June 1st, 1945

The alley was dark and narrow, the bitter taste of stale air and the stink from the overfilled dumpsters permeated the place, the sole inhabitants of which were the rats. They scurried and squeaked about, wading through dirty puddles so they could dig through filth for a morsel of food that would never come. Suddenly, their movements stopped though, ears perking perking about and heads frantically whipping around the place. Someone was coming.

From the brightly lit theater across the street, the three young boys ran in circles around each other, giggling hysterically while they tried to catch each other in an odd game of tag, smiles wide and eyes bright, unburdened. Their families, the Oswalds, the Starks, and the Waynes, smiled at the sight of their playing children, so carefree and joyful, celebrating the 8th birthday of Bruce Wayne. At the insistence of an anxious birthday boy, they had all left early, taking a shortcut Thomas Wayne knew of.

"Haha!" laughed Tony Stark, jumping on the back of Bruce Wayne, "Happy birthday!"

"Ah, yes, happy birthday." smiled Oswald Cobblepot.

BANG.

Instantly their hearts began to threaten to break out of their chest, the once jovial mood having ended in an instant. The boys whipped their heads around, terrified eye's landing on a sleazy looking man in a trench coat, smoking gun in hand, standing over the body of Oswald's father.

"Mother!" shouted Oswald, running to her side, standing protectively in front her, "You won't hurt her."

BANG.

Oswald dropped to the ground, his knee shattered beneath the fountains of blood spewing forth.

"J-just gimme the money!" trembled the man in the trench coat, pushing his greasy blonde hair from his face.

"It's alright," said Thomas Wayne, stepping forward with his hands raised, wallet in hand, "everyone stay calm."

Thomas put some foot in front of the other, almost exaggerating his steps as he moved towards the mugger, holding out his wallet. The man eagerly went to grab it, fumbling it in his trembling hand till it dropped to the rain slick ground. The pair went down to grab it.

BANG.

The mugger had panicked, shooting Thomas without thinking.

As he laid there against the wet pavement of Crime Alley, blood pooling around him, Thomas clutched the hand of his now sobbing wife, doing his best to comfort her as the life faded from his eyes. Through her tears, Martha called her son over, wanting to hold him close. The boy obliged, clutching his onto his mother till his knuckles turned white.

Gun trembling in hand, the mugger pressed it against her chest, pearl necklace draping the weapon as it threatened her.

"Gimme your jewelry."

From behind, Howard Stark grabbed the mugger, throwing him to the ground, his head cracking loudly against the pavement, and…

BANG.

He accidently fired the gun, bullet entering the gut of Martha Wayne, her body slumping to the ground, pearl necklace shattering and going everywhere, beads trailing blood as they rolled around.

WAYNE MANOR - MASTER BEDROOM - June 2nd, 1958

Beads of sweat rolled down Bruce's face as he tossed and turned in the damp sheets of the masterfully crafted four post bed. Jutting up, eyes wide and alert, he looked around at his surrounding nervously. The nightmare was over. Suddenly becoming acutely aware of the white hot pain in his chest, Bruce flopped back down into bed, a exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

"I see you're up, Master Bruce. How do you feel?" said Alfred.

"Like I was clawed at and stabbed in the back."

"I'm surprised you even know what happened to you, given the thrashing you took."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Really, Master Bruce? Based on what?"

"My time in the league."

"Ah, yes, I do recall you mentioning the 'training' you underwent with those bloody assassins."

Alfred began to walk out, only to stop suddenly and turned around.

"I almost forgot, do you think you could stand by any chance, Master Bruce?"

"Why?"

"You have a visitor."

"Gordon?"

"While they do both have red hair, sir, not quite."

WAYNE MANOR - LIVING ROOM - June 2nd, 1958

Having thrown on a white button down shirt to cover up the bandages of his extensive injuries as well as a pair of pants, Bruce hobbled down the wooden stairs of Wayne Manor, clutching the railing as he tried to maintain some appearance of his usual swagger. With each movement, he felt his bones grind and muscles tense as they tried to keep him moving, fact being that it was a miracle he was upright at all. Spotting the person waiting for him down below, Bruce's heart skipped a beat and his already tight grip on the railing began to splinter the wood. Andrea Beaumont.

"Andrea." said Bruce to the beautiful redhead, doing his best to keep his voice neutral.

She turned to face him, graceful features beaming with excitement, "Hello, Bruce! So nice to see you!"

Bruce faked a smile, "You too."

Trying to manage his usual playboy swagger, Bruce moved towards Andrea, giving her an awkward hug in his attempt to hide his wound. He accidently knocked her purse out of her hands though, sending it tumbling to the ground and spilling it's rather bountiful contents everywhere.

"I'm so sorry," said Bruce, wincing as he bent down to pick up what he spilled, "just clumsy I guess."

"You know, I can tell that you're hurt, Bruce."

"And how could you do that?

"You're not exactly hiding it well." smiled Andrea.

Bruce fumbled everything back into her back, though stopping once he saw a magazine called "The Serpent Society."

"Since when do you like snakes?" asked Bruce.

Andrea's jovial smile dropped, though only for the blink an eye and quickly picking up once against as she said, "Since forever. Guess there's still some stuff you don't know about me."

"You're right," Bruce plopped down into one of the chairs before the fireplace rather unceremoniously, having now given up on his attempt to hide the fact that every movements sent needles through his body, "like why you left me for example."

"Bruce…" said Andrea, sitting down in the chair next to Bruce.

"Yes, sorry, where are my manners." chirped Bruce, though clearly not meaning it, "Where have you been?"

"Traveling the world."

"Where in the world?"

"Europe… spent a lot of time in Asia."

"You know, after you left, I went to Asia. Beautiful place. So many… _interesting_ people to say the least. I learned a lot."

"Like what?"

"How to deal with the pain."

"Does it really still bother you that much?"

"Yes."

Andrea shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "Then why didn't you even try to stop me?"

Bruce's eyes flared and he said, "Because! What would you do! Your fucking fiance for gods sake just up and leaves and gives you jack shit as to why!

"Master Bruce!" scolded Alfred.

Bruce's face turned white as he began to apologize to Andrea, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… you know…"

"No, no it's alright. It's just that… I do feel guilty for what I did."

"So then why'd you do it?" There was a sadness in his eyes.

"Because it was the right thing to do."

"Andrea…"

"Stop. It's alright. I shouldn't have come here. I knew neither of us were ready for this."

"Andrea, please…"

"Goodbye, Bruce."

And with that, Andra ran off, click of her heels echoing in the hall and punctuated the slam of the large oak doors of the front entrance of Wayne Manor.

The table broke beneath Bruce's fists, sending splinters everywhere and startling Alfred.

LATER THAT NIGHT

GOTHAM CITY - LAMBERT'S MANSION - June 2nd, 1958

Having sped through the winding back roads of Gotham in what he had come to call the "Bat-Mobile," Batman arrived back at the dimly lit area surrounding the gothic stone monstrosity that was Lambert's mansion. Gingerly stepping out of the car, still bruised and battered from his fight on the roof, Batman took note of the police car parked out front, seeming to be guarding a abandoned building. He theorized that the police had posted someone at the mansion in the event of burglars, or potentially the perp in their wet dream.

Under the cover of night, Batman expertly slipped through the shadows to the eastern mansion wall, as he had done so before. Whipping out his grappling hook, he threw it up, it landing snuggly on the mansion roof. Planting one boot clad foot on the wall, Batman began his attempt to scale the mansion's side. One foot after the other, he struggled up the building, heaving and wheezing as he gritted his teeth, biting back the pain. It was to much though and Batman tumbled to the ground, landing squarely on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Picking himself back up, gasping air back into his lungs, Batman made a note to himself to upgrade his grappling hook with some sort of pulling feature. Perhaps, more like a grappling gun would suffice?

Casually leaning against the car door, shoving a snack he had brought into his face, John Blake chatted with his partner for the night, the pair making conversation from things ranging from how the city is "going to shit" to the latest ball game. Their pleasant talk was suddenly interrupted though by a thud in the distance.

"You hear that?" asked Officer John Blake.

"It's nothing, kid." replied his partner, taking a sip from his thermos.

"Well it could be something."

"Animal at best."

"We should go check it out."

"Tellin' you kid, it's nothing."

"Do we have anything better to do?"

"I got a dozen reasons in the back seat."

John Blake shook his head and headed towards the noise.

"Hello?" he said, pausing for an answer, "Is someone there?"

He looked around, looking for some signs of life, eyes finding a grappling hook lodged into the roof of the mansion.

"Whoever you are," said John, fumbling with his flashlight in an effort to turn it on, "you can't be here."

John shone it around, trying to find the would be intruder, not expecting to drag a man in a bat costume from the shadows and into the light. Without warning, the man lunged at him, bludgeoning his chin with the heel of his hand. Dazed and knocked off balance, John couldn't reacted when the bat-man wrapped his arms around his neck, choking the life out of him.

Batman gently laid the cop on the soft bed of grass, pitying the man. He was only trying to do his job, but then again, so was he. Hearing the struggle, the cops friend came running, arthritic knees grinding as the man pushed himself onwards to see what was going on. Slowly unholstering his gun, the cop's friend stepped forwards, expecting to find some burglar looking to score big time, though greeted by the same way his comrade fell, a pair of arms wrapping around him, the air squeezed out.

While the guards may be incapacitated, giving Batman the clear to enter the mansion, he had not planned on this. He was supposed to in and out without anyone noticing, now he had two bodies lying around, marking he was there.

Entering into the gothic monstrosity, Batman began his search for evidence potentially linking the two murders. It was certainly no coincidence the two friends were killed by the same person on the same day.

45 minutes later

Nothing. Absolutely nothing linking the two murders beyond the obvious. No letters. No journal entries. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Hell, the only thing out the ordinary was some stupid magazine named "The Serpent Society."

Remembering that Andrea had the magazine from earlier in the day, Batman flipped it open, scanning over the many articles, curious as to it's contents. He found nothing out of the ordinary, until he came to the editorial that is. It was clever, but he was cleverer. Hidden in the last page of the magazine, Batman found a hidden message, or messages that is. They were all alarming to say the least, talking about the world renowned assassin named "The Phantasm" killing their members and what not, but it was the last one that startled him the most, sending a chill down his spine.

HAIL HYDRA

"THIS IS DETECTIVE JIM GORDON OF THE GCPD! WILL THE BAT-MAN COME OUT WITH HIS HANDS ON HIS HEAD! WE HAVE THE PLACE SURROUNDED!"

Shit.


End file.
